REVIEW: Village Idiot – ‘offensive’ comedy of family feuds premieres at Playhouse

Samson Hawkins’ debut play uses the HS2 train controversy to explore the divisions - between town and country, young and old, tradition and progress - that run through England in a high-tensile comedy about difference and unity.

Thrash-metal loving matriarch Barbara Honeybone (Eileen Nicholas) is dead set against the scheme which will destroy her beloved village of Syresham, while her vacuous PR-spouting grandson Harry (Maximilian Fairley) happy to sell the ancestral home to his corporate paymasters.

Meanwhile Peter (Philip Labey), Barbara’s younger grandson, has only got eyes for Debbie Mahoney (Faye Wiggan). But the only thing Barbara hates more than townies is the Mahoneys (father and son, played by Mark Benton and Joseph Langdon).

Family feuds and romantic entanglements are interspersed with scenes from Syresham’s Got Talent – a village show which features ‘songs, dancing, magic, drag, a bit of wrestling, and a meat raffle – with the vegetarian option: two tins of Strongbow’.

Village Idiot is studded with very funny – sadly unprintable – lines that veer from the downright disgraceful to the genuinely touching.

A scene in which two childhood friends grapple with language only to discover what they really mean to each other demonstrates how skilfully Hawkins can wrangle dialogue for maximum effect.

This is surely the best debut by a former fencing contractor since Magnus Mills won a Booker Prize nomination for The Restraint of Beasts.

It’s tough to pick a stand-out performer amid such a strong and eclectic ensemble led by Mark Benton, best known for Early Doors and Waterloo Road.

And it’s tougher still to do justice to such a foul-mouthed – but big-hearted – comedy in a family newspaper, but I have to say these ******* ***** made me laugh my ******* **** off.

A Shakespearean landscape of star-crossed love and dramatic symmetry is cleverly evoked by Lily Arnold’s woodland set.

So many conflicts are tackled – age, class, gender, disability and sexuality – that at times the play feels like it may buckle under the sheer thematic strain. But it’s difficult to mind when the collapse involves such gleeful obscenity.

If you can’t find something to complain about, you’re not trying hard enough.

In a statement the Playhouse said: “Village Idiot uses outrageous comedy to tell the story. It will certainly shock some people. It will certainly offend some people. Some will be upset by the very strong language, which includes swearing. The characters make jokes about class, race, sexuality, sex, gender identity, trans people and disability.

“Nottingham Playhouse doesn’t endorse the offensive terminology used by some of the characters. We believe one of the roles of theatre is to hold a mirror up to the world we live in; to begin a dialogue and challenge perceptions.

“For us, Village Idiot ultimately carries a message of inclusivity, arguing that when we learn to accept each other’s differences and celebrate our individuality, the world is a richer place.”

Writer Samson Hawkins said: “I was a fencing contractor and I wanted to be a playwright, so I wrote a play about being a fencing contractor. I hope this play captures rural life in a way that will be recognisable to people from that background and enlightening to those not.

"It’s a message from the country people to the townies, a defence of who we are, and maybe even a challenge for the future.”

Director Nadia Fall said the play, which was developed over five years ‘made me laugh out loud and gave me a window into country life that those of us from towns and cities just don’t get to see. And what’s particularly exciting to me is that this is the first Ramps show that is a new play, written by a neurodivergent writer.’

The play is a co-production between Nottingham Playhouse, Theatre Royal Stratford East and Ramps on the Moon – a pioneering consortium which puts deaf and disabled artists and audiences at the centre.

Village Idiot runs until Saturday, March 25, at Nottingham Playhouse.